


Convalesence

by yespolkadot_kitty



Series: Love Letters to James Conrad [4]
Category: Kong: Skull Island (2017)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Tumblr said this was too steamy, a lot of nonsense really, porn with what we will generously call plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-04 23:47:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20479481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/pseuds/yespolkadot_kitty
Summary: James Conrad is injured in the Malaysian rainforest, outside your remote research longhouse.Will you nurse him back to health?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another love letter to James Conrad, I guess.
> 
> NOT PART OF THE 3 EARLIER LINKED FICS. This is just standalone porn....

Present Day

Batang Ai National Park

You crept around the traditional longhouse the government had provided for your study, careful not to wake the stranger.

He lay on your bed, eyes closed, one hand bandaged. In a moment of terror thus far unrivaled in your life - and you’d been suspended sixty feet above the forest floor on a rope bridge crawling with giant white forest ants - you’d been working when a bang outside had startled you from your chair.

Outside, you’d seen him on the forest floor, gun in hand, the scent of the freshly fired weapon lingering in the humid air.

Pale and wan, he’d lay still, eyes barely open. His hand was swollen, and you had instantly recognised the python bite. Venomous.

It had taken all the strength you possessed to drag him up the steps to your longhouse, administer the antidote, and lay him on the unmade bed. By then, he’d completely passed out, muttering something in a voice that sounded straight out of a James Bond movie.

In the splintery light of dawn, its fingers reaching through your slatted window shutters, you gently laid your hand on his forehead.

His fever was receding, his breathing less laboured.

He was lucky you’d learned to treat most snake venom and minor ailments out here. Since your only other visitors were fellow researchers and park rangers bringing supply drops once a week or so, you needed to be self-sufficient.

The life of a scientist wasn’t always easy.

The stranger’s damp hair curled gently over his forehead. His long lashes laid against cheekbones you could cut yourself on. A poet’s mouth formed a slash across his face, heavy stubble framing his jaw. He wore a dirty blue t-shirt and jeans that had seen better days. You’d tugged off his military boots in the hope that it might make him more comfortable; lower his temperature.

His pack sat on the floor by the bed, you’d resisted going through it. The gun, however, you’d taken.

You were almost entirely sure that he’d fired just to get the attention of whoever had been in the hut, but, you were a woman alone. You didn’t take chances.

It had been twenty four hours and his pulse beat steadily under your gentle touch, but he hadn’t imbibed any water.

Concerned, as you would be for any fellow human - of course it didn’t hurt that he looked like every fantasy you’d ever had - you crossed into your tiny kitchen and poured a glass, adding a bamboo straw.

Perching on the edge of the bed, you started to move the pillows so his head would be in a better position to drink.

His hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. A gasp lodged in your throat and your gaze flew to his.

“Where am I.” His voice was hard, not a question. Rough from sleep and lack of water, he sounded like a man on the edge, capable of anything.

He kept his grip on your wrist, but his eyes darted to the water.

It was in your other hand, so you offered it. “Drink first. Then, I’ll answer your questions.”

He hesitated, and despite his rough grip, you didn’t feel scared. “You’ve been helpless in my bed for the last day. If I wanted to hurt you, I’d have left you on the forest floor for the animals to finish off.”

The stranger seemed to accept that, taking the glass of water. He released your wrist from his grip and drank.

He sat up, and watchful eyes, the colour of the sea on a stormy morning, tracked you as you moved again to the kitchen. He’d be hungry, so you plated up a large portion of rice and chicken rendang. It was cold, but you'd bet that after a whole day - and goodness knew how long before that - without food, he wouldn’t be complaining.

“Here.” You offered the food.

If you expected him to ask what it was, you’d have been wrong. He set the empty glass aside and took the plate from you - gently, not the grab you’d foreseen.

“I’m still in Batang Ai?” he asked, his voice smoother now, eloquent, just enough scratchiness to add a sexy edge.

“Yep. You fired your gun by my longhouse. Scared me.”

A contrite frown shaped a mouth made for sin. “I apologise.”

You nodded to the bandage on his hand. “You were bitten by a python. I administered the anti-venom.”

He chewed thoughtfully. “Thank you. I owe you my life.” His eyes cast around, taking in your compact home in a few glances. “What do you do here?”

“I’m studying hornbills. The government want to build more tourist lodges here. We have so many already; I think their habitat would be compromised.”

You refilled his water glass as he ate, trying not to get caught staring at his physique. The sleeves of his t-shirt hugged his biceps, and the material clung lovingly to what looked like a six pack.

Phew. You were on a sex drought - that was obvious, a researcher alone - but you didn’t expect the oasis to come to you.

“Here.”

He took the refilled glass with a nod of thanks.

“Why were you here?”

He drank deeply. “I’m on a search and rescue missing. Minor British diplomat on holiday. He’s been missing, officially, for three days.”

“Alone?”

The corner of his lips curved up in a slight smile. Serious he was handsome. But that little hint of humour, naughtiness - the package he presented was more powerful than a direct hit to the solar plexus. “Her Majesty doesn’t have an unlimited budget. And you’re alone, too.”

You guessed he was right. “I’m Y/N.”

“James Conrad, Special Air Service.” He put his plate down for a second to extend his hand.

You shook it, and as his fingers curled around yours, you felt a jolt of heat spear right down your body.

_That’s what comes of being celibate for almost a year._

He was attractive, and you weren’t dead.

You mentally smacked yourself. Saying James Conrad was attractive was like saying Mount Everest was “quite high up.”

Like the mountain, the man seemed a force of nature. Like he’d ruin you, given half the chance.

You’d bet you didn’t prepare for a man like him. You just buckled up for the ride.

“Here, let me take that.” You held out your hand for the plate.

Conrad frowned. “The least I can do is clean up.” He set the plate on the bed, and started to step down on to the floor.

You saw it before he noticed, and you whipped around to catch him as he stumbled, his legs unsteady.

“Fuck.” He bit the expletive off, and in his curt British accent, the sound tingled inside you.

“You’ve been bitten by a snake and then spent twenty four hours without food or water.”

He rolled his eyes. “Made for that. Special forces, darling.”

You settled him back in bed. “Do they also teach you that you have to flirt to distract others from any weaknesses you might have?”

He grinned, although beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead. “They teach us to flirt with beautiful women.”

And then he passed out.

You tucked the sheet up around him, your knuckles brushing the hard muscle of his chest. Giving in to an impulse, you stroked damp curls back from his hairline. He didn't stir. Out cold.

Okay then.

Shaking your head, you went back to work. You’d convince him to get up and bathe (and _eat_) later.

If you thought about checking his backpack to look for pictures of a wife or children, well, you were only human.

You focused on your work, refusing to snoop.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being in the jungle for many days, invalid Conrad needs a bath.

That night, you attempted to wake him, gently patting his face. When that had no effect, you sat beside him on the bed, squeezing his shoulder.

No response.

A finger under his jaw revealed a steady pulse. Not dead. That’d be a hell of a clusterfuck.

“Conrad?”

You noticed the glint of metal beneath his shirt. Dog tags? Seemed likely.

“Conrad?” you raised your voice, touched his chest, where his heart beat under your palm.

In one of those heartbeats, you were under him, his face inches from yours, expression hard, battle ready, his long, lean body coiled tight, boxing you in.

Then he blinked.

“Fuck.” Releasing you, he scrubbed his hands over his face. “I find myself apologising to you for the second time during our short acquaintance.”

You wriggled off the bed. “Er, it’s fine.”

Fact was…. You’d rather liked it.

You should have felt scared. You hadn’t. Somewhere, innately, you knew he wouldn’t harm you.

“It is most assuredly not fine, Y/N.” He sat up, trembling for a second.

You turned away, sensing that he might not relish being seen in this weakened state.

While he’d slept, you’d cooked a little, using the last of your cheese rations to make a dairy-stuffed flatbread, a common Malay comfort food. He needed calories, and it was the most nutrient-rich thing you’d been able to construct with your available food.

Plating it, you offered it to Conrad.

Surprise flickered over his face for a moment. “Thank you.”

As he ate, you tidied your small kitchen area. Okay, so your longhouse was hardly the Hilton, but you made do, and felt happy most of the time.

Now, although he was just one person, Conrad dominated the space, despite his weakened state. He filled your home, his presence loud even as he’d slept.

“Y/N.”

You looked up at his soft voice.

“Where have you been sleeping? While I’ve occupied your bed?”

You shrugged. “There’s a fold out futon.”

It was so rickety that the springs had attacked you at random times in the night, but you’d made do, after all, you weren’t the one recovering from a python bite.

“You should have your bed back.”

“You need it more.” You shook your head. _Military dudes and their orders_.

Conrad continued eating, but you could tell by the set of his jaw that the conversation about your sleeping arrangements was far from over.

When he’d finished, you offered water. He drank three glasses before waving away a fourth.

“Do you need to…” You gestured vaguely, hoping he’d catch your drift about bodily functions.

“I can manage. Thanks.” 

You pointed him towards the rudimentary bathroom. The “plumbing” in your longhouse was limited to a chemical toilet. For bathing, you filled a built-in tin bath with removable plug with a mix of boiled and canned, purified water. The rangers brought it to you every few days and took away your drums to be refilled. They emptied your toilet too. Poor bastards.

Conrad held onto the walls for support as he made his way to the bathroom.

As he took care of business, you boiled water. He didn’t know it yet, but he was getting a bath.

The pan on your stove bubbled as he staggered back towards you. Hurrying across the wooden floor, you caught him just as he started to stumble.

Wincing, he leaned heavily on you as you helped him back to bed. You were heroic in your restraint of copping a feel of all that lean, lithe muscle.

Cursing like a sailor, Conrad closed his eyes. “My mates in the SAS would never let me live this down.”

“Well, good thing they aren’t here to see it,” you teased.

He threw a hand over his eyes, panting. “The snake didn’t even look that large.”

“It’s not the size. It’s what you do with it.”

Your hand flew to your mouth at the words you’d spoken without thinking. 

Conrad chuckled, then raised an eyebrow, his expression so naughty that your toes curled. “That, I believe, is what she said.”

You stepped back from the bed, almost tripping over a pile of books on hornbill migration in your haste. “I, uh - I’m boiling water. For a bath. You need one.”

He smiled grimly. “I feel sure that I do. I owe you, Y/N, for your hospitality, and food. I’ll see to it that Her Majesty compensates you.”

You scoffed. “I don’t need that. I did what anyone would do.”

Conrad’s gaze searched your face for a second, his stormy eyes serious, and you wondered what thoughts raced behind that handsome visage.

“You’d be surprised,” he murmured softly, his voice carrying to you across the small space.

Outside, the sun had set, and the animals of the rainforest began their night time serenade. The rainforest whispered to itself, pockets of light here and there gifted by the waxy moon, fat overhead.

The water finished and you lugged the two pans to the tin bath, adding half a can of cold purified rainwater. It was lukewarm, but it’d do; in this heat, Conrad would dry off quickly.

“Bath’s ready.”

He eased himself to his feet, wobbled a bit.

“Do you… need help?” You felt your face flush. But he was an invalid. You’d have offered help to anyone.

A wince contorted his face. “It goes against every British sensibility I have to say this, but if you think you can manage, I’d appreciate it.”

He leaned on you as you walked him towards the bathroom, his breathing evening out now.

You lingered awkwardly by the tub. “Um. Shall I go… while you…” You mimed taking clothes off. You had no idea where to look. Jesus. He was just a man.

A self conscious smile tugged at his lips. “I’m sure I don’t have anything you haven’t seen before.”

He still half-turned away from you. The small lamp in the bathroom illuminated him in soft, rosy light, picking out the ridges of muscle on his torso as he slowly tugged the shirt over his head. An arrow of antique-gold hair disappeared under his belt, and he eased the leather out from his jean loops next.

You mouth went totally dry as he methodically unbuttoned the denim fly of his jeans, sliding them down legs that went on for days. His underwear was black, serviceable, and that somehow made it sexier than if he’d been naked beneath.

Conrad glanced over his shoulder. The light from the small lamp picked out hints of copper in his thick stubble. “I can leave these on, or..?”

Taking a deep breath, you shook your head. “Of course not,” you said matter of factly, keeping the hitch out of your voice. “You’ve sweated through it all - it needs washing. Like you said. I’ve seen men before.”

The little smile that graced his face for a hot second made you think you hadn’t been successful in your bluff. But he removed his underwear anyway. You looked away, kept your gaze averted and succeeded only in glimpsing a nest of copper-gold curls as you helped him up the three wooden steps to the in-built tin tub.

“Sorry, it’s pretty rudimentary.”

He sank in, leaning his head back. “It’s heaven.”

The angular lines of his face relaxed as he soaked in the water. 

You left him to it for a few moments, returning with the soap. It was one of your few luxuries - L’Occitane, verbena scented. You’d treated yourself to six bars before flying out here. 

“Do you…. Need a hand washing?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just plain smut. Enjoy!

He opened one eye. “I should be able to manage.”

You unwrapped the fresh cake of soap. The verbena scent filled the humid, wet air. Passing it to him, you couldn’t help a smile as he fumbled with it. It was so incongruous, seeing this strong, trained-to-kill man as weak as a kitten.

“Christ.” He dropped the soap into the water. You averted your eyes as he scrabbled around for it. The water was clear as a lake, and if you looked down, you’d be able to see, well, everything. You were about to offer a hand - what? Something? - when he grasped it, slowly soaping the wall of his chest.

“I can go,” you offered, not moving.

The soap slipped away again and Conrad bit off a string of curses. “Sorry. I’m burning your ears off.”

You laughed. “Believe it or not, I may have heard curse words a time or two.”

“Didn’t mean to patronise you. Fuck!” He ground out, and found the soap again. “I’m as close to useless as possible.”

“Not used to being an invalid?”

He turned to you, eyes dancing with humour. He was too attractive; should be illegal. “What gave it away? If I might impose, assistance with washing would be appreciated.”

He even spoke rather like your not-so-secret crush, Mr Darcy from Jane Austen’s great novel. Be still, my beating heart.

“Sure.” You were proud that you didn’t so much as stutter. Taking the soap from him, you perched on the steps by the bath. The rosy lamp light and the moonlight painted a glow on his body in the water, a reflection of a picture perfect man in the prime of his life. You dipped your hands in the water, soaped his shoulders and down his pectorals. Conrad rested his head back again, a groan escaping him.

“Okay?”

“If you stop, I’ll have to kill you,” he muttered drowsily.

You bit back a chuckle. He didn’t sound capable of much at the moment, aside from leaving you to enjoy his physique.

Taking your time - studying the data from the various hornbill nests you monitored could absolutely wait a half hour - you massaged his tense trapeze muscles, savoured the deep sigh you conjured from his lips.

Settling behind him, your slid your legs into the water, your calves touching the sides of his arms. The water had warmed a little from his body heat, lapping pleasantly at your toes. You stroked the soap down his upper arms and then again over his chest, letting your finger tips tangle in the light whorls of chest hair you found.

Conrad shifted slightly. “Don’t… have to.”

“Want to,” you whispered against his hair.

He visibly relaxed. Your fingers brushed the peaks of his nipples and he tensed. Unsure, you moved your hands away. Returning to safe territory, you slid your hands into his hair, gently soaping, circling his temples in what you hoped would ease some of the tension sketched into his big body.

A moan that sounded purely sexual eased from his lips. You adjusted your sitting position, uncomfortable. Just touching him was sending your arousal into the stratosphere, your toes curled in the water, your lower belly tight.

“Y/N….”

You glanced over, and wished you hadn’t. The water level in the tub was low enough that you easily saw the head of his erection, curled tight against his flat abdomen.

Your first instinct was to leave. He could be someone’s husband. Lover. Father. What right did you have?

“I have to know,” you whispered. “Who’s waiting for you? Back in England?”

He lifted a hand and curled it around your calf. “There isn’t anyone. Scout’s honour,” he added, the hint of a smile in that James Bond cool voice. “I’d invite you to join me, but I’m afraid I’m too weak to make it good for you.”

Your heart thumped, hard and you stroked a hand down to his stubbled jaw, rubbing small circles. “How about if this time, I just make it good for you?”

You saw his cock jerk in the water, as his pulse rabbited beneath your fingers. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Stripping down to your underwear, you slid around the edge of wooden platform the tub was built into, and eased yourself into the water opposite him, bracketing his legs with yours. He raised his knees to accommodate you, watching you from heavy-lidded eyes.

Palming the soap, you washed one leg at a time, your fingers skating over his calf and thigh muscles. You watched his chest rise and fall, mesmerized by his body. 

Conrad slid his hands over your feet and cupped his palms around your ankles. His touch was light, intimate.

The sounds of the rainforest outside quieted as the world seemed to narrow to this room, to the water lapping gently around your bodies as you moved, washing him gently, exploring. You leaned forward and soaped his muscled forearms, rubbing in small circles until you heard his sigh, an erotic sound in the silence of your remote longhouse.

Alone together aside from the only observer, the silent face of the waxy moon, you skated your palms down his flat abdomen. Glancing at his face, seeing the relaxed pleasure there, you tangled your fingers in the curls around his flushed erection. He tensed, but you merely soaped the hair there, cleaning diligently. You’d almost finished when he covered one of your hands with his, and wrapped your fingers around the girth of his cock.

Slippery with soap, you both watched as your hand slid up and down, learning the size and weight and ridges of him. Conrad’s head fell back, lips slightly parted, eyes closed as he helped you learn the rhythm he liked.

“Fuck, Y/N…”

The curse from him spurred you on, and you let your other hand play, cupping his balls in the water and stroking the sensitive curve where they met the base of his cock.

He came in a hot rush, your name flying from his lips again. You stroked him through his release, until he trembled and stayed your hands.

Gathering you close, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. Breath shuddered out of him, and you sensed that you didn’t have long before he passed out cold. If that happened in the tub, you’d never move him.

He leaned on you as you encouraged him to step down from the platform. Together you managed to dry him off, and then you led him back to bed. He was exhausted, biddable. You wished you’d had time to change the sheets, but they’d do until he woke again.

“Goodnight,” you whispered as you tucked the cover around him, brushed your lips over his stubbled cheek.

He’d already slipped into sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A smidge more smut, before we loosely segue into what might be plot, if you squint.

When you stretched the next morning and left the tiny spare room in which you’d shoved the futon, Conrad was already up, his long, glorious lithe form naked, slowly stripping the bed of the sheets.

You hurried over. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

The strain was evident on his face, but he nodded grimly. “Got to get back to the mission.” He lost his breath for a second. “Soon.”

“For _fuck’s_ sake.” You shoved him into your office chair. The fact he went without even a semblance of a fight told you all you needed to know. “Lord save me from alpha males.” You finished stripping the sheets yourself. You had his clothes to wash from last night anyway; the load could go in the tub together. Already the temperature soared, and on the rope washing line one of the rangers had rigged for you, they’d dry very quickly.

_Oh._

Rangers.

They were due today. What would they say about Conrad? You felt a blush rising in your cheeks, but you blew out a breath, casting your worries aside. You were helping an injured fellow human.

The rangers wouldn’t possibly know that last night, with Conrad, you’d shared….

What, exactly?

“Y/N.”

You glanced up, the sheets bunched in your fists.

“Thank you. For…. last night.”

He looked like sin personified, sprawled in your chair like that, his hair mussed, his jaw thick with stubble, unashamed of his nakedness. You determinedly kept your gaze above his chest, unsure why you suddenly felt like a prude now that daylight filled your home.

“Regrets?” he asked softly, as you turned away.

“Why would I have regrets?” you snapped out, then winced at your tone. “Do you want breakfast?”

“I meant what I said.” His gaze held yours, his clear blue eyes steadfast, honest. “There’s no one waiting for me at home. I wouldn’t betray a wife, or a lover, that way.”

You drew in a deep breath. “Sorry. I believe you. Really. It’s just…” You set the sheets down and sat on the bed. “I don’t do…. This.” You waved a hand into the air between you both, you’d run out of words. “You know. Sexy stuff with strangers.”

His eyebrow quirked. “You mean you don’t get injured SAS operatives staying here every week? I would’ve thought I was just the latest in a long line.”

You chuckled, and so did he, and then you both laughed together for a moment that stretched. When you looked up, a smile was sketched large on his face, so handsome he snatched the breath from your lungs.

You stood up. “Breakfast.”

He gestured to his pack. “Would you pass it? I have a change of clothes.”

With a not unherculean effort, you made yourself move into the cubby-hole kitchen to make a breakfast of rice porridge and leftover rendang as Conrad dressed.

Scrambled eggs and hot smoked salmon it was not, but you’d become used to the fare here, and it was filling if nothing else.

When you turned back with the offering, he was almost fully dressed, a forest green henley hugging his torso, another pair of ancient jeans encasing his legs. His feet remained bare.

“Thankyou.” He took the plate from you, and you joined him at the tiny camping table, bringing cutlery.

“So. Tell me about your work. I wasn’t really in any condition to listen, when I arrived,” he added, smiling self-deprecatingly.

You explained that you’d majored in zoology, and from there, become interested in endangered species in the Malay rainforest due to your Asian heritage. Hornbills were beautiful birds, but the ever encroaching, endless greed of the tourist industry stole more of their habitat every year. You’d received funding from the WWF to monitor nests across the national park, and you were amassing data to submit to the Malay government when your period here ended.

Conrad listened intently to your words, his gaze never leaving your face. He gave you the entirety of his attention. 

“I hope you get what you need,” he said eventually, brushing his hand over yours.

Somehow the little touch felt absurdly intimate, even after what you’d done last night. You stood abruptly, clearing the breakfast dishes.

Conrad called your name, and you turned back.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said, very softly.

“I know.” You squared your shoulders. What you didn’t say, couldn’t say, was that last night, a little piece of your heart had drifted off into his hands, never to be reclaimed. You didn’t want to lose any more of it. “I’m just…. Used to being alone.”

While you’d made breakfast you had boiled a little water, and you mixed it with cold in your small sink to wash the used plates. As you added dish soap and sank your ringless hands into the water, Conrad came to stand behind you, settling his large, warm hands on your hips.

“If I have upset you, in any way, please know that it was never my intention.”

He was so warm at your back. Like a moth to a flame, you leaned back into him, helplessly drawn. 

Whispering your name, Conrad slid his hands up your stomach. Braless under the loose cotton sleep shirt you wore, your nipples tightened at the proximity of his fingers. You arched your back, hoping to tell him without words what you wanted. What your body craved.

He didn’t disappoint. In a hot second, his hands covered your breasts, fingers expertly toying with your nipples under the thin fabric. Heat pooled between your legs as he turned his attention to your neck, pressing kisses to your pulse point, the stubble on his jaw scratching pleasantly. You wondered how it’d feel further down your body.

Almost unbearably aroused, you pressed yourself against him, feeling the weight of his erection pressing into your lower back. He growled low in his throat, and one hand left your chest to snake down into your sleep shorts. You typically eschewed panties due to the heat, and so he found you wet and ready, sliding those talented fingers just where you needed them most. 

He teased you slowly at first, building into a rhythm, learning what you liked, when to press harder, when to stop, when to sketch patterns on your clit in tantalising circles.

He bit down gently on the curve where your neck met your shoulder, and the orgasm rocketed through you, a bolt of white hot pleasure that made coherent thought impossible for a moment that stretched.

“Conrad-”

He tensed behind you. “Someone’s here.”

Distantly, you realised, he was right. The roll and purr of an engine slowly entered your hearing, the sound encroaching steadily, promising an end to your intimate solitude together. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interruption by a park ranger, fluff, and some flirting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A ONE SHOT
> 
> **cries into the void**

You finished washing the dishes as Conrad threw his clothes and the bedsheets in the tub to wash once you had time to boil more water.

The park ranger’s off road SUV pulled up to your longhouse. You moved to the screen door, unlatching it as he climbed out of the vehicle. You felt Conrad move behind you, his warm presence protective, and although you didn’t need him, his innate strength made you feel safe.

“Morning, Y/N,” the ranger called up.

You opened the screen door fully. “Hey, Pan. How you doing?”

Panjang tipped his hat, speaking clearly in lightly accented English. “Good. I’ve got your fresh water here, and some meat and bread. How are the -”

He stopped speaking and you realised that he’d seen Conrad looming behind you.

Breaking the tension, Conrad moved out from behind you, walking down the steps to greet the ranger. He extended his hand. “James Conrad, Special Air Service.”

Pan shook his hand, looking from you to Conrad skeptically.

Conrad slipped a hand into his pocket and produced ID for Pan to inspect. The shorter man eyed the embossed SAS wallet and laminated card for a moment, before handing it back. 

“Great to meet you, Captain.”

Captain? You you had guessed he was a fairly high rank, otherwise he would hardly have been sent to the rainforest alone.

“Y/N here has been helping me back on my feet after I had a nasty run in with a python.”

Pan glanced between your face and Conrad’s again. You sensed that he knew there was more Conrad wasn’t saying, but to his credit, he didn’t question it.

“She sure is a blessing,” he said instead.

“Can I lend a hand?” Conrad asked, gesturing to the back of Pan’s SUV, which was loaded with supplies.

Between the three of you, you carted out the empty cans and replaced them with filtered water, and added food to the small pantry off your kitchen area. Pan had brought a small pouch of sweet cured dried pork with him, your favourite of Malaysia’s delicacies, and you thanked him profusely as you stashed it away for later.

Conrad sorted the various parcels, including mail, as you showed Pan some of the tracking data you had downloaded from the nests you monitored. The ranger, a Malay native, had shown increasing interest in your work, and you were happy to share it with him.

Conrad took the opportunity to quiz Pan on the list British Diplomat, but to no avail.

After he left, Conrad leaned heavily against the kitchen wall, and you rolled your eyes at him.

"Are all men incapable of showing weakness in front of each other?"

A roguish smile tugged at his lips. You were reminded that you had yet to kiss him, despite your other intimate activities. "It's the first chapter of the man handbook."

"Come on." You helped him on to the bed and he lay down readily. "Stupid overexerting caveman."

He closed his eyes and you took the opportunity to lift his bandaged hand, unwrapping the thick, stretchy gauze. 

The site of the python's bite was hard to see now, the skin pink and healthy.

You finished removing the bandage.

"Will I keep the arm?" Conrad asked, melodramatically, from his prone position.

"Thanks to me."

He propped himself up on the elbow of his free arm. "I didn't mean to belittle you. I do owe you my life, and I realise that. What can I do for you?"

Heat surged up your body as you contemplated him repaying you in orgasms.

Instead, you set his healed hand down on the bed.

"Rest. Then make yourself useful and wash the sheets and your clothes; I have work to do."

If you had expected him to balk at such menial work, you'd have been disappointed. An hour later, as you inputted breeding and nesting data into your various spreadsheets and servers, you glimpsed him outside, hanging both his clothes and your bedsheets on the rope washing line. 

The humidity today was off the charts; the clothes and sheets would get very hot but hopefully, not retain too much moisture. If they weren't dry then you'd both have to share the miserable futon. 

The strangely domestic scene made something clench in your chest. It had been a long time since you'd thought of a man the way you were thinking about Conrad now.

A while later when you surfaced from your work again, he was sitting on the very small decked area of your longhouse, leaning against the balustrades, reading a battered copy of Hamlet.

"Tea?"

He looked up, and you saw it there in his face for a second, a moment of weakness. But he quickly schooled it. The man might think he was ready to be out in the field, but he was fragile yet. 

"Please."

You served the tea black, and alongside it several small nyonya kuihs, traditional Malay cakes.

You are together companionably, the sounds of the rainforest comforting to you.

"Do you miss home?" Conrad asked at length.

"I miss real coffee. Long, hot showers. Box sets, the couch and popcorn."

He smiled into his cup of tea. "Some of my favourite things, too."

You finished the small cake in three bites. "How are you feeling? No macho bullshit."

Conrad met your gaze, his cerulean eyes clear. "Guilty. I should be out there. Every day I lose is a day that the missing diplomat's family continue to worry."

"But if you go back out there too soon, you're no good to them either."

He frowned, his brow burrowing. You could tell that he was a man used to giving orders. Not taking them.

"You're right," he said finally. "But I should get a message to HQ. Do you have a satellite phone?"

"Sure." You kept it off a lot of the time to save battery and therefore save charging it, the solar battery packs you'd brought with you took hours to charge and weren't that effective.

You returned with the phone and handed it to him. "It's about a hundred years old, but it was fine last week."

"Thanks. Do you mind if.." he gestured vaguely, and you sensed he wanted privacy to make the call.

A little later, he came to find you once again engrossed in a video of some courting behaviour your solar powered cameras had picked up.

You spoke without looking over your shoulder. "I can't tell you how mad it makes me that people kill these birds for trophies. For nothing more than a few dollars. They were here before us, and they'll be here after us."

"We are the most dangerous predator to walk the Earth," he replied solemnly.

You turned in your chair. The light was fading, already weakened by the huge amount of tree cover in your part of the park. Conrad stood silhouetted, his shoulders broad, the gold in his hair picked out by the last gasp of the day's sunshine.

Your mouth watered just looking at him.

"Mind if I join you?"

When you gestured for him to do so, he pulled over a fold out chair and sat next to you.

For a few minutes, you both watched what the camera had picked up, courtship behaviour of the hornbills living in the park.

"Choosing a mate is critical for the female," you murmured. "She relies on the male to bring her everything she needs from the outside world, once she starts nesting."

"And does he normally come through?"

You smiled, charmed by the genuine interest in his question. You nodded to your laptop screen. “He’s going to have to up his game before he finds out. She isn’t into him at all.”

Conrad trailed a finger down your neck. “Really.”

You swallowed, keeping you gaze on the birds as they danced around each other. “He needs to step it up.”

“Is that so.” His finger continued its journey down your neck, passing the sensitive hollow at the base of your throat, skating down to the neckline of the loose cotton shirt you wore.

Your breath caught as he lazily dipped his finger just below the boat-style neckline, just brushing the tops of your breasts.

“Totally,” you managed to eke out. “His seduction is…. Rudimentary at best.”

“Do you think she’d accept his suit, if he tried harder?” he whispered. His whole hand was under your neckline now, sliding down so that his warm palm cupped the weight of your left breast, worrying the nipple between his clever fingers.

The only sound you heard was the pounding of your own heart. “Hard to say.”

Conrad stood from the chair and came to stand behind you. His other hand joined the party, giving your right breast the same attention. You let your head tip back and he dropped kisses on your neck, his stubble tickling, the sensation heightening your arousal. You arched into his wide, warm palms.

“Enough.”

He paused immediately. “Y/N, I didn’t-”

“I didn’t mean stop,” you clarified. “I mean, let’s find a bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, I know the gif is not Conrad, but I just love it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just more smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't know what's gotten into me lately.
> 
> (not Conrad, more's the pity)

Conrad backed you into the futon until your legs folded and you fell on to it, back first. He sent you a crooked grin before climbing on top of you, sliding his long body over yours and making all thoughts of hornbills and nests and  _ any-fucking-thing _ else drop out of your head.

His clever mouth got to work nibbling at your neck as you arched under him. His hands got busy, palming your hips, one hand slipping under your hips to press you into him right  _ there, _ right where you needed the pressure, where you were already wet.

You ran one hand through his thick, sunkissed-gold hair, while the other got busy on the button fly of his jeans. 

His cock fell hard and heavy into your palm. 

Commando.

_ Excellent. _

He groaned against your neck as you hiked up your cotton skirt to give him better access. Conrad lifted himself off you, leaning up on one elbow, trailing his hand with those long, talented fingers down your stomach, over the ruched material of your skirt, and down to your plain panties.

You allowed yourself a very vain moment to regret that you hadn’t packed any underwear a femme fatale would be proud of. But it didn’t last. Conrad stroked you through the thin, sheer cotton, and you gasped out a breath as his fingers worked their painstakingly slow magic, his gaze on your face the whole time. He looked at you as if you were the only person in the world, all that ever mattered and would ever matter, and that itself was an  _ incredible _ turn on.

You continued to stroke him lazily with one hand as he repaid the favour to you, unhurried, exploring you as if you were a new country, his for the taking, his landscape to learn. You enjoyed the weight of him in your palm as his clever fingers slipped under the waistband your panties and touched you, and it was electric.

Arching into him, you gritted out his name as the orgasm started to build, knotty and white hot, at the apex of your body.

“Come for me, darling,” he whispered, circling you  _ just so, _ and you obliged, seeing stars behind your closed lids.

But he wasn’t done. 

As you shuddered from the climax, he disengaged your hand from his body and moved over you, hooking his fingers in your underwear and teasing the garment down your thighs, dropping it to the floor.

The creaky old futon groaned as he slid between your legs, looking up at you.

“Conrad,” you said in warning. 

A smile flickered on his face of planes and angles. “You’ll never say my seduction is rudimentary again.”

Your brain fogged for a second, and then you smiled. The hornbill video. You’d forgotten all about it.

He was diligent, you’d give him that. Within a minute you were bucking into his mouth, a second orgasm driving through you, sharp and hot and sweet.

“Darling,” he whispered against your stomach, his words tickling. “Do you-”

“Bedside drawer.”

He gave you a  _ well aren’t you prepared _ glance, then returned with a foil packet.

“I didn’t know how long I’d be out here,” you reasoned, smirking.

Shucking his clothes, he moved over you again. You plucked the little packet from his hand and slowly, very slowly, slid the rubber down on him, revelling in his little shiver as you took your time about it, giving him no doubt as to how very, very much you appreciated that part of him.

He knelt up and spread your legs, and you went willingly, your gaze locked with his as he braced his arms either side of you, and finally,  _ finally, _ slid home.

You both exhaled. Conrad dropped his face into the curve of your neck, mumbling something incoherent.

Stroking his back, you toyed with the hair at the nape of your neck. “Something wrong?”

He swore. “I’m about a minute from losing it like a boy with his first woman,” he muttered, and his admission made your heart clench. And your belly flop over.

“Well…”

Wanted… to make it good for you,” he added.

You moved your hips, feeling him jerk inside you. “I’ve got more condoms.”

He growled against the thudding pulse under your jaw then, and set a punishing pace, taking you over the edge again with him. His body pulled tight as a bow and coiled with his release, and when he sighed and collapsed on to you, you slid your arms tight around him, breathing with him for a moment that stretched. He was warm and and heavy in all the right places, and you thought how a friend had once advised you that humans were biologically programmed to fall in love with anyone they had sex with.

Conrad went to move, but you tangled your legs with his. 

“I’m heavy,” he started.

“I like it.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and you thought how pleasantly he took up space in your small home. How you’d miss him when he left.

And then, how he was  _ absolutely _ leaving. A temporary visitor in your home. No more and no less.

He had a reason to go. You had a reason to stay.

And suddenly your eyes burned.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conrad has to say goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH LOOK. PLOT!!

You burned through two more condoms before the dawn broke. When it did, you found yourself waking wrapped around Conrad’s leanly muscled body, his arm draped over you, your legs tangled in his.

The creatures of the rainforest woke with you, monkey hoots and bird calls slowly penetrating your consciousness.

You yawned and stretched, leaning up to press a kiss to Conrad’s stubbled jaw. He stirred, his arms tightening around you. Under the sheet, his palm slid down your back, cupping your backside, squeezing.

“What a way to wake up,” he murmured, voice roughened, heavy with sleep. “I could get used to it.”

Your heart squeezed. Rather than examine your feelings, you brushed your lips across his until he opened for you, kissing you drowsily as you both woke up with the sun, splintery light poking through the slatted blinds across your window.

You slid a hand into his hair, loving the feel of the soft strands between your fingers. Conrad let loose a low groan against your mouth as your other hand got busy at the apex of his body, twining your fingers around his erection and stroking until he was hard as steel wrapped in velvet. He thrust lazily into your hand, whispering your name as he did so, his low moans making your internal muscles clench in wanting.

Finally he rolled over you, sliding one leg between yours. “Darling.”

It was the second time he’d called you such, and you wondered if he even realised as he feasted on your neck, biting and then laving the tiny hurt with his tongue.You lay back, content, body humming, as he continued his journey, taking his sweet time exploring the peaks of your breasts before kissing his way down your stomach.

The futon creaked as he settled himself between your thighs, kissing just above the curls around your sex before using one hand to spread you to his gaze.

You knew a moment of uncertainty, and then he was doing holy hell who knew what to you down there - spelling his name with his tongue, maybe - and your arched into his mouth, all cares of how you looked or tasted forgotten. Your entire body convulsed with the climax when it hit. You barely registered the rip of a condom packet as he moved over you, ghosting a kiss over your lips. A fresh wave of bliss hit as he thrust inside you, bottoming out straight away. You hooked your legs around his waist as he struck up a punishing rhythm, pleasure stark on his handsome face, and you felt a sudden jolt of jealousy for all those women who’d gone before, who’d seen him like this, naked and sweaty and raw, and perfect.

He might be gone tomorrow and you wanted to stake your claim.

You took control, rolling your bodies so you sat astride him. He raised a brow in question, but, trusting you completely, he let you set the pace. You settled your hands on his chest, felt his heart pound under your palms. 

He held your gaze, and you didn’t look away, burning the image of him beneath you into your brain, hoping you could somehow tuck the memory away like a favourite photo, and keep it away from the light so it would never fade.

When you came together, the pleasure didn’t quite eclipse the growing sense of dread unfurling slowly in the pit of your stomach.

*****

An hour later, after you’d bathed together, slow and sweet and unhurried, you made eggs for breakfast, spiced with local flavours, with some dried pork on the side. The sticky sweet flavours exploded on your tongue and you looked out at the rainforest, wondering what it would share with you today.

“How are you feeling?” you asked Conrad.

He lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “Like I need to get back out there. I have a job to do, like it or not. I can’t in good conscience stay here with you. As much as I’d like to.”

You swallowed a juicy bite of pork. “I know. I should go, too - I’ve got to check the solar charge on my nest monitoring cameras.”

You finished your breakfast together in silence, cleaning up side by side by silent agreement.

As you stacked the plates, Conrad packed his bag. When he slid his pack on, he came to your side as you worked, touching your shoulder.

“Darling-”

“Please don’t.” He was leaving and you had known it was coming but it was big and scary and too much and too loud all at once. You wanted to retreat into a little shell and curl up there until the daylight faded and the memory of his solid presence hurt a bit less.

He dropped his pack and scooped you from the chair. You gasped in surprise as he held you tight, as tight an embrace as you’d ever received, his nose buried in your hair, breathing you in. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For everything.”

He set your down to stand opposite him, then reached around his neck for his dog tags. Unsnapping them, he opened your palm and dropped them in. “I’ll come back. For these.” He folded your fingers around the small chain, kissed your knuckles.

You swallowed hard but a tear escaped, slipping down your cheek as he cupped your face and kissed you, a silent promise on his warm lips.

It was a long time before you could get back to work, the memory of his impossibly blue eyes, tinged with grey and sadness, keeping you from focusing.

******

After lunch, you roused yourself to go and check on the hornbill nests you were monitoring. It was sometimes dangerous work. You should have waited for Panjang really, but you had to do something other than moon over Conrad. God only knew how long he’d be gone. If he ever did come back.

You believed him, trusted his earnest stalwartness, but a soldier loving a woman never to return was the oldest tale ever told.

Shrugging on your pack with your supplies, you hid your laptop under the futon mattress, then locked up. The padlock was rudimentary at best; you’d not dissuade any desperate thieves, but you’d been fortunate so far.

The first two cameras were charged fine. You checked the screen on your little tablet for the third, turned north to head towards it.

Astonishing pain bloomed like fire in your hip. You barely registered the fall, the tablet dropping from your palm on to the log and leaf strewn forest floor.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more PLOT!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be pure smut. But hey, I let the story do what it wants!

You came to on a stark camp bed, clean sheets under your back. Your head pounded; your mouth was dry.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

Slowly, you turned your head, although that small action made your neck burn. A tall, dashing-looking man reclined in a bamboo chair opposite your bed. You opened your mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

“I’m sorry, about the shot.” He reached for a glass of water next to him and offered it.

You briefly wavered about whether to accept it, but your throat burned. You had no way of knowing how long it had been since you’d last drank anything, and you took the glass from him,drinking in thirsty, long gulps.

As you moved, pain shot through you, and your free hand flew to your hip. A bandage had been applied and the area stung.

“My bullet grazed you,” he continued, in a smooth British accent. You tried to discern his age; somewhere between forty and fifty, you guessed, the first spatters of grey appearing at his temples.

“What were you doing out there?”

You kept hold of the glass. It might make a good weapon if you were in a bind. “I study hornbills. What were  _ you _ doing there?”

“None of your concern.” But he moved slightly, and you saw the line of a chain around his neck, under the open collar of his shirt. And at the bottom of the chain was what looked like the helmet of a hornbill.

_ Poacher. _

That was why he’d shot you.

He didn’t seem to realise that you’d seen the prize around his neck. But seeing it reminded you of something. Your hand flew to your own collarbone, to find-

The stranger opened his palm. Conrad’s circular dog tags glinted on his skin, and you held back a growl. He’d  _ taken _ them from you.

“Who is he to you?” the stranger asked.

You’d taken A Level drama. You could only hope that a shred of what you’d learned would help you now. “No one. I found them in the forest. A stupid tourist, probably.”

The man glanced down at the dog tags, running a finger along the embossed text. You knew it off by heart by now. His blood group. A serial number. His surname and the letters SAS at the bottom. 

The stranger frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t think so. Care to try again?”

You swallowed. If this was the diplomat Conrad sought to  _ rescue, _ the man certainly seemed to be in no distress.

In fact, you strongly suspected he was enjoying a spot of poacher tourism - a growing, underground industry where those with plenty of money and loose - or no - morals, paid to hunt endangered creatures whilst the government looked the other way. In a country like Malaysia bribes were commonplace. You knew it, but it still made something in the pit of your stomach burn. 

“I don’t know him,” you insisted, digging your nails into the palm of your hand to remind yourself to keep your voice even.

“He’s not the first they’ve sent, you know,” he continued lazily, staring down at the dog tags.

You swallowed back bile in your throat at his words, said without a care in the world.

Pushing back the pain in your side - how had Conrad coped for so many years, with pain like this? Constantly under fire, taking bullets, living day to day? - you forced a relaxed smile on to your face. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. I keep myself busy all day assessing data on the nests. Collecting samples of feathers and bird droppings; I’m of no interest to you.”

He dangled the dog tags in front of you. “How long ago did he leave?”

You tightened your grip on the water glass, wondering how easily it would smash. Outside, the rainforest sounded as it ever did, and you couldn’t know without looking where you were. If only you’d taken your satellite phone with you.  _ Idiot. _ Conrad had scrambled your brain.

Even so, you wouldn’t trade a second you’d spent together.

“Who?” you asked, faking nonchalance.

The cold stranger eyed you. He rose from his chair and talked over to the camp bed, fisting your hair in one meaty hand. “I can smell him all over you,” he muttered. “He’ll come back for you. I’ve got a couple of men on your lodgings. I think he’ll be back.”

You choked back a sob and held his gaze, memorising his face. You’d rat him out once you got free.

_ If you got free. _

He snatched the water glass from you. “Let’s see how you feel after twenty four hours without food or water.”

And he slammed the longhouse door. You heard a deadbolt click. The one window you could see had rungs across it and shutters behind those. Despite your diet here being radically different to that of back home, you couldn’t squeeze through the bars.

You lay back on the rickety makeshift bed, trying to figure out what time it might be. If he was going to leave you twenty four hours, you’d rest first. Give your tired brain time to figure out some semblance of a plan.

  
  


*******

Conrad circled back over his tracks. Something was wrong. As a trained tracker, he often relied on his gut instinct and his experience, as well as clues he picked up in the wild, to make his way around and to find his targets.

But something here felt  _ off. _

He trudged a little further in the heat, using his machete to cull a branch blocking his path. The familiar call of hornbills littered the air around him. Conrad looked up, paused.

That scent.

_ Blood. _ Coppery, thick. Human blood.

He followed his nose, and as he rounded a tree, he trod on something.

Under the leaf litter poked the edge of a metallic rectangle. He moved it with the toe of his boot. A Tablet. A little tag had been looped through the protective case. He recognised the writing on the plastic label, and his heart leapt into his throat.

Because if this was her tablet, then the blood spatter on the foliage nearby might be hers, too.

And for the first time, with a sudden, almost painful clarity, he knew that something mattered more than the country he’d given his life to serve.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader remains confined; Conrad searches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9 of the "dirty little Conrad one shot" I had planned....

You woke with a parched throat and a belly knawing with hunger, and opened your eyes at semi-darkness.

Reaching for Conrad, your hand met coarse, empty sheets and-

_ The stranger had you. _ You remembered it all now with painful clarity.

For several hours after the stranger had left you alone, you’d searched the small room diligently for anything that could be used as a weapon. You had found precious little, but, by using the edge of a small rock, you’d managed to whittle down a stray shard of bamboo into a very primitive shiv. It was no gun, or even a knife, but in close quarters if your keeper was unprepared, it would at least buy you a few moments.

You’d already tried to use one of your earrings to pick the lock, but it was solid, and you had no larceny skills to speak of.

_ What would Conrad do? _ You wondered fruitlessly. He was probably long gone, thinking about you, maybe, but he’d have no idea you were in any danger. There was no way for him to know.

If you lived another few days, Panjang or another ranger would find you gone and raise the alarm. Maybe.

******

Conrad peered through the trees at her longhouse. Two burly men who had probably excelled at bullying in school loitered around it, as unsubtle as possible. Someone had her, of that Conrad was now a hundred percent sure.

And that someone had kidnapped her because of  _ him. _

The knowledge twisted sourly in his gut.

He studied the men’s faces, committing them to memory. As a military man he’d learned long ago that his memory was one of his best assets.

_ He’s not holding her here. _ He was certain of that, too.

He bent low to the ground and looked for any more signs of the blood trail, then retraced his steps to the place he’d found her tablet.

Queen and Country be damned; he’d find her if it was his last act on Earth. She had saved him, perhaps in every way that a person could be saved. He owed her his life, and if he found her, he’d lay it at her feet to do with as she wished.

******

The door opened and a tray slid across the floor before you were alone again.

From the bed, you eyed the offerings. What looked like congee, cold, and a plastic cup of water.

You were too hungry to resist, even if it was poison. You ate the unappetising congee first, slurping from the bowl as no cutlery had been provided. You took longer over the water, drinking it slowly as there was no telling when you’d get more.

The empty bowl was plastic; a child’s. No use as a weapon, but then, your captor knew that, didn’t he?

The knot on your head was still very tender, but when you felt it gingerly it seemed to have scabbed over.

A few minutes after you had, humiliatingly, relieved yourself in a far corner, the door opened again, and he stood in the opening. You blinked at the the daylight.

“I fed you.”

You stared up at him.  _ Does he want thanks? _ For shoving a tray of slops at you like an animal?

“What do you want?” you asked, your voice scratchy from thirst; the water had barely quenched your need for liquid.

“To see if you’ll tell me what I want to know. Or whether you’ll need to be persuaded further. And I won’t just starve you, this time.”

Fear knotted in your gut, but really, even if you  _ did _ rat on Conrad, what could you say? You truly had no idea where he would be. The park was huge and sprawled for miles. He probably had access to a Jeep or landrover; he’d be better off searching or sending a lackey.

“I really don’t know anything,” you managed weakly. The makeshift shiv felt heavy in your sock but you kept your leg still, trying desperately not to give anything away.

He studied you and you saw emotions play briefly over his face. “No matter. He will come for you. Never had a woman for leverage before,” he murmured, and the cold thoughtfulness in his tone made your belly clutch in fear. He was completely soulless; focused on his own wants and needs only. You were less than nothing to him; he’d kill you as soon as you stopped being useful, you realised.

A cold determination settled in your veins.

_ Not if I kill him first. _

“Wait,” you called as he turned away. You took the moment his face was averted to slip the shiv out of your sock and behind your ear. He might have seen the movement, but you’d had no other opening.

He raised a brow questioningly. 

“I’ll tell you,” you murmured, hamming up your sore throat. “But come closer. My throat hurts so much.”

He tutted but did you asked. You leaned forward on the bed, pretending to meet him halfway.

Closer.

_ Closer. _

He was within range and you opened your mouth as if to speak, at the same time shooting your hand back to grab the shiv, aiming-

You scraped the skin of his neck, drawing a few beads of bright crimson blood, and he growled, grabbing your hand almost hard enough to fracture bones. You gasped in pain and dropped the makeshift weapon.

He shoved you back on the bed where you cradled your bruised hand.

"Bitch. You  _ are _ whoring for him." He crushed your bamboo knife under his boot and towered over you on the bed, his eyes dark, face menacing. He leaned over, getting in your face. "Sooner or later, you'll cave, or he will arrive. I can wait."

The thought of Conrad submitting to this brute of a man for you, made your stomach curl with fear and anger, and you summoned the last of the moisture in your mouth and spat at him.

He backhanded you, hard. Hard enough that the only thing you saw was darkness that swept up to meet you.

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conclusion to the adventures of Reader & Conrad.

Crouching outside the longhouse on the western edge of the park, Conrad waited for nightfall. He’d taken his time over the tracking, studied footprints and dropped hairs, made certain beyond any shred of reasonable doubt that she was being held here. And now he’d arrived, he shimmied up a tree and peered through a low window. All the windows were barred on this property. This particular opening had the shutters ajar and he squinted, wishing for binoculars. He could make out a sink, a tall, curved tap. And hanging off the tap, a string of metal, glinting -

His dog tags.

She would never have lost them, or carelessly dropped them on the forest floor. Surety about that settled in his gut, and he’d long been a man who had trusted that instinct. She was inside.

He crept back down the sturdy tree and found some cover, hunkering down. If these were poaching men, they would leave for more sport at nightfall, when the park shut down and they were less likely to be caught or seen. And then he would break in and find her. Hold her in his arms, treat her wounds.

And keep her safe ever after.

********

Your head ached like fire. Everything hurt. Your mouth had never been drier.

The longhouse creaked as your captor and his men moved around. Going out? You could only pray to any God that would care to listen.

Since waking up a half hour ago, with little idea what time it was, you’d scoured your little hovel of a room again for_ any-fucking-thing_ that could be used in your favour, and some deity or other had been listening, because you’d found a nail. Long but rusty, it was more than you had hoped to find. Maybe it could pick the lock. If you stabbed it in someone, they had better hope their tetanus shots were up to date.It probably wouldn’t kill, but it might give you a fighting chance.

You cradled your throbbing head as the sounds outside got louder.

An engine started. Then another.

Two large vehicles drove away. You listened, focusing to the point of pain.

Either you had one man left guarding you, or you were locked here alone. It was now, or never.

You crawled over to the door. The half open shutters gave you a little light; it was just after sunset. Breathing deeply to calm yourself, you slid the nail into the lock and twisted. Nothing.

You tried again and the nail bit into your skin; you slipped and it dropped to the floor. You cursed under your breath, breathed in, tried again.

After what seemed like an eternity, something happened. The tumblers dropped, a few clicks - and the door moved. You quickly held it, hoping madly that no one had noticed.

When you weren’t immediately gunned down, you counted to ten, slowly. The excruciating wait made your heart pound; your face flamed, overheated with effort and anxiety.

Nothing.

You edged the door open. Mercifully, it didn’t creak.

On your hands and knees, you crept out, barely daring to breathe.

The large living area didn’t look like the scene of a kidnapping; it was neat as pain, almost bare. A few chairs; a table covered in maps, suitcases and duffle bags. It seemed much more like a base of supplies than somewhere anyone lived. 

Poacher tourism. You were more sure of it than ever.

A shout sounded outside and you froze, then scurried under the large table. Another cry, and then footsteps on the wooden stairs outside.

The sound of the door cracking; being kicked with a force.

You trembled, forcing your hand hard over your own mouth to stop even the tiniest fragment of noise leaking out.

Boots in the room. You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling like the little girl you’d once been, two decades ago, staying in your grandmother’s house and terrified of the ghost you thought lived there.

A moment of silence seemed deafening. You listened again. Something about the tread of the intruder was familiar to you.

And the scent-

You opened your eyes to see Conrad’s boots by the table leg.

Almost vomiting with relief, you choked out his name.

He was there in a hot second, tossing a huge rifle to the floor and grasping you by the forearms, sliding you out from your hiding place gently.

“Oh, Christ.”

You imagined you must look a state. Your arms shook as you wrapped them around his neck, tears flowing unbidden from your eyes as you breathed him in. He smelled of the jungle and clean sweat and _Conrad_ and you never wanted to let him go as long as you lived.

“You rescued me,” you managed to sob out.

Conrad looked over your head to the door with the rusty nail lodged precariously in the picked lock. “I rather think you were doing a fine job yourself.” He held you tight, his arms warm and solid and sure around you. His heart pounded against yours.

“Had to do something,” you shuddered out.

“Fuck.” The word sounded extra dirty in his stiff British accent. “I thought I’d lost you.” He sighed into your hair, and you felt a tremor rack his big, lean body. Fear, for you.

You drew back and looked into his blue, blue eyes. “I was scared for you. If you came and he hurt you….”

Conrad stroked your hair back from your face. “It’s all right, darling. We found each other again.” He lifted you easily in his arms then set you gently on your feet. Stalking to the fridge, he yanked out a bottle of water, twisted the top off and offered it to you.

You drank deeply, but slowly. Too much water now would make your stomach rebel and you’d vomit it up.

“He’s the one,” you choked out through a still-battered throat. “The one you’re here for.”

Conrad nodded stiffly. “He’s not coming home with me. I’d rather he be brought back on a court order.” He shook his head in disgust. “Bloody poachers. Bastard was stupid enough to leave some travel documents in that rudimentary safe.” He patted his pocket. “I’m going home with evidence, and that’ll be enough.”

Your legs shook with the effort of standing, and Conrad caught you, his gaze holding yours. “Come with me.”

“I…” You searched his ocean blue eyes. A million questions tumbled through your mind, but none made it on to your tongue.

********

_One month later_

Smoothing your palms down the skirt of the smart, brand new navy suit you wore, you sighed, satisfied. Your testimonial and the data from your study, along with the documents Conrad had lifted from the Malay longhouse were enough to put the diplomat away for some time on charges of bribery and poaching tourism; the latter was being investigated on a larger scale, and you knew it would help the population of hornbills recover if they were officially endangered. Panjang and the other rangers would welcome the intervention. 

As for the government and their officials who took bribes under the table… One battle at a time. You weren’t done fighting for the hornbills, not by a long way.

The summer breeze washed over you as you stepped out of the London courthouse. In full swing now, the season had brought out ice cream vendors all over the city. Children on holiday ran rings around their parents and pigeons vied for scraps.

James Conrad sat on the steps of the courthouse, a navy shirt hugging his lean figure, the sleeves rolled up to show muscled forearms. He wore jeans that did unspeakable things to his backside. You be sure to admire it properly before you stripped the denim from him later, in your hotel room.

He stood to greet you, bending his head to yours, whispering a kiss over your lips. “Darling," he murmured, for your ears alone, "Have I told you how immensely fuckable you look in that sharp suit?”

You felt your face flush. “Only a dozen times.”

“Then I’m remiss. I should have told you at least twenty times by now.” He took your hand, lacing your fingers with his. “What shall we do with our free afternoon?”

You didn’t start your new position at London Zoo - you were lucky enough to have been headhunted - until tomorrow, and on Friday Conrad had his second interview as Head of Security for the American Embassy, based in Wandsworth. He’d all but been sworn in; this second meeting was a formality.

Next week you’d be able to move into your new flat together, the papers had all been signed, and you couldn’t wait to stop living out of a suitcase.

“I didn’t have anything planned,” you began, then stopped at an ice cream cart. “Hmmmm.”

“Ice cream?” Conrad dug in his pocket for change. “Tub or a cone?”

You eyed him speculatively. “I think…. Neither. I’d rather eat it off you.”

His eyebrow winged up. Since coming back to England, he’d reformed somewhat; shaved, cut his hair. The long-in-front, short back and sides style suited him, showed off his poet’s mouth and that rakish jaw to perfection.

But inside, you knew he was still dirty as all hell and that’d he’d fuck you blind at any opportunity, have you crying his name into your pillow, your body bowing madly with pleasure.

“You make me wild,” he murmured into your hair, leading you towards your hotel.

You smiled up at him. His eyes were the colour of the sky at dawn in this light. “Some things _should_ be brought out of the jungle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much, everyone who has come on this journey with me. I have treasured each comment. And special thanks to my two biggest cheerleaders, @hopelessromanticspoonie and@lokimostly. 
> 
> I'm 200% sure that this won't be my last Conrad fic. That man...


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